


Letters From Exile

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-18
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even cut off, Zoe has things to say. This won't make sense unless you've seen the first three series, but no spoilers beyond that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters From Exile

**Author's Note:**

> Written for passionflows

 

 

Dear Tom,

Do you ever wish you could have your life back? I do.

It's gorgeous here. I hate it.

Zoe

_\-- scrawled on the back of a photo of the Andes, the first Will took in Santiago, and tucked into the first page of a brand-new album_

* * *

Dear Danny,

Do things still matter, do you think? There's a beach we found that's quite lovely. I'm saving a seat for you - I could do with a good laugh about now.

Yours,  
Gina

_\-- written on a postcard in the middle of the night, slipped into Will's camera case to be mailed during his next trip_

* * *

Dear Tom,

Complacency, by definition, sneaks up on you. I remember being told so many things in training, and most of them boil down to that. Never get complacent.

I signed my name last week. Zoe Reynolds. The only reason I noticed, I think, is that the words have come to look so strange. My signature used to be the most familiar thing in the world, and now it's something that shocked me to see.

I scribbled over it and nobody saw, but there's an entire neighborhood I won't ever go back to now. An entire place I must now keep off-limits, all because I forgot myself in a cafe and can't face going back. I got complacent after months of being so careful. I forgot that we are different. Our mistakes have larger costs.

I'd have been sacked if I forgot that back home.

Why won't somebody just sack me already?

Zoe

_\-- written hastily in a journal, the page carefully folded in to conceal it from ready sight_

* * *

Dear Danny,

At times I worry that every decision I ever made was the wrong one. Case in point, the one that landed me here. It's too late to go back and fix any of them, of course. It's always too bloody late.

Even for this, but I have to try anyway. I love you, too, Danny. Perhaps not how you -- I just, I do, and I should have told you then. I'm really very sorry for that. I miss you.

Love,  
Gina

_\-- sent via airmail during a holiday in Guatemala, postmarked two days after Danny's funeral_

* * *

Dear Tom,

It didn't feel like acting. The first time I went under, I mean. I thought it would feel like being in a play. Some sort of improv, of course, but still. Acting. A play. A game.

Instead I was in another world with a gun to my head. There was a trigger that would be pulled if I didn't become that other person. Really become her, you know? I would be dead. That was the truth of it. It was completely different from the lies I told myself, but I suppose it's one of those things you can't understand until you've done it.

It's a funny thing, living with that gun. I thought we worked better together after I'd finally felt it, didn't you? I understood you more. I know it doesn't always work that way - take Ellie, for example.

It has worked with Will, I think. I'm grateful for that. I think he forgets the gun is even there most days, forgets all about the bullet that is always waiting, ready to be fired.

I can't forget. It's a funny thing.

Zoe

_\-- written, enveloped, sealed, addressed. Tucked into the back of a drawer, never sent_

* * *

Danny. Danny, Danny, Danny.

You deserved better. I deserve worse.

I saw Tom yesterday. I was shopping for a birthday present for Will and there he was, like a ghost. A spooky, spooky ghost. Twenty minutes, he asked for, twenty minutes and a cup of tea.

I feel like I'll be sitting there drinking that tea forever. So much useless small talk about my job and my life, things I never even mentioned to you. Little things a friend should know.

So here you go. I have long hair now and it's dark. There are bangs all over my face. They drive me crazy, but I keep them. They remind me that I'm always to be hiding. I'm in advertising, which is just a safer version of the old job. I figure people out and try to get them to do what I want. I believe there's something ironic about it all, if you care to pick it apart. I usually don't.

Will and I are talking about having a baby. I'd still like a little girl, but right now...right now I think I'd like a son. I'd name him Danny, I swear I would.

Tom told me quickly, without warning. You're dead. You were murdered. You were doing your bloody job.

"Weren't we all?" is what I think I said. It was a cruel comparison, Danny. I'm sorry. But it's true, isn't it? It's all finally over for the three of us. The three of us sacrificed to the enormity of our work, our lives changed, or ended, or cut so terribly short.

You just don't get to move on to something else. And do you know, I'm not sure that doesn't make you the luckiest of us all? Perhaps that's cruel as well. I don't know. I don't seem to know much of anything anymore, do I?

Danny. I love you. I'm sorry. There will always be a spot in the sand next to me with your name on it.

Always,  
Zoe

_\-- buried at sunset on a beach in Mirasol_

* * *

Tom,

I wanted to say things to you today, things I've put in notes I've never sent. I haven't written one in ages - it all seemed so pointless. And of course I couldn't bring myself to say anything to your face. I'll say it now. I'll send it this time.

I wish you hadn't come. I wish you hadn't told me about Danny. I hope I never see you again.

I'm happy here.

Our actions have consequences, Tom, and they never seem to end. Never again, all right? Never again.

Gina

_\-- written in careful and deliberate script, mailed promptly to the address pressed into her hand_

 

 

 


End file.
